From the Mouth of a Dragon
by Ivydoll
Summary: Complete. MalchiorRaven. Some sexual themes. A new light on the whole thing; the power of books and words. Tidied: 21Feb12
1. The Eighth Day

**(KAI) **Well, here's some het.

* * *

**Chapter One**: The Eighth Day

* * *

Ah.. here... Still here...

Still waiting, and reading, and wondering...

Raven... will you ever know me, without hating me?

* * *

For a while, she thought she might be dying. It was a quaint fantasy she held, for a short time, to name and handle the pain that ripped through her chest and burned, and most of all ached, until it seemed she might never stop crying, but it was unreal. It was words and play, and eventually she grew tired of it, opting instead to go by the "bottle-it-up-and-ignore-it-until-no-one's-around-and-then-exorcise-it-with- the-help-of-dead-people" school of thinking. The only challenge was finding enough dead people to do some serious soul surgery, and of course, a containing unit large enough to house the trauma Malchior-the-book-man had caused her.

It was thinking like this that led to those looks. Oh, sure, you could be dark and devastating reading a book or holed up in the dark of your own room, but stop chewing a bite of pear for longer than three minutes while hovering in the middle of the kitchen like you're having deep, complicated dialogue with the toaster, and suddenly there's something actually wrong with you. Pfeh.

"...Um, Raven? Hell-ooo, did you hear me?" his voice grated on her ears, on her nerves. High, and whiny, and childish, and it was always directing at her. Stupid child. Cute, simple-minded, little child. She turned in the mid-air, one eyebrow raised in annoyance.

"What do you want, Beast?" her pear finished being chewed in the words, and was swallowed.

"Oh... I thought you'd spaced out for good, there!" he laughed, jumping off of the counter with a twist. "Anyway, just wanted to let you know, we're all going out for pizza, so if you wanna come, well... come on!"

"I don't feel like pizza," the dark-haired girl responded calmly, turning from the kitchen to leave for her room. This was definitely a pattern- the way her room-mates moved around her, trying to "get to know her" and "include her" and "aggravate her to no end with the ridiculous insistence, though not voiced, that she was depressed beyond belief and an inch from the suicidal toss off a noose".

So they weren't very subtle.

Her room was shadowed, as was par with the usual, but suppose in the corner where a peculiar wooden trunk sat, the shadows clung and doubled and stretched from, like fingers reaching for... her. She shuddered, and a jolt of the fake-pain ran through her heart. She touched down to earth lightly, like a dancer. She'd never taken dance. Something amusing about ballerinas and a pathetic joke rose to mind. She banished it.

Raven found herself unwanting to read, a state she'd forced herself to ignore on more than one occasion. Forcefully turning the aching pages of her booked collections again and again. She gave up today. It was definitely time to give up.

She stared across the room at the dark and ever-so-spooky chest, and twitched a finger up to her hair, without really noticing, and played with the lock of hair that hung so much shorter than the rest of her collective coif. Had it become a habit? As had her hair begun to trail over her shoulders in disarray. She hadn't felt like cutting it. Or maybe her friends had hidden all of the scissors. One could never tell.

The box was staring at her. It couldn't, because it was a box, of course, but that fact did not negate the box's intense glare in her direction. Did it envy her freedom of movement? Or was it pissed off because the only object in its copious depths was a book? One book. Raven could recall a story, of cardboard boxes, who quivered with joy to be filled, to be filled oh-so-full, and feared the water of lakes and puddles like nothing. Though it came to pass that a box fell in a lake, and sank, and was the happiest box in all the world for being, one-hundred percent and completely full. What a lucky thing.

Raven felt like part of herself, speaking of which and such emptiness, was empty. Like it _had_ been full, but current circumstances- and those of a week in passing- seemed to have ripped that fullness away from her. Maybe she had lost a cup-size.

She sighed, crossing her legs. Thinking had become so hectic lately. It was all the new knowledge in her head, to be sure. So many spells and words and mis-understandings all trying to file themselves away at the same time. God knew what kind of havoc using so much of one's memory at once might wreak on the thought processes. In a few days, she might start speaking in 1337.

He- that is- _it_, was in the chest. It was difficult to believe that he, it, was. It had changed her way of looking at things, to be sure. Or in fact, had changed the way she felt. She remembered the white of her clothing, like his hair, and the blue, a befitting color of sadness, fading away. She looked at her arms then-stretched them out to reach for her toes, and peered at the false shine of her outfit of choice. It was not very provocative. Just blue.

She relaxed and continued staring back at the chest. A dragon. She had fallen in love with a dragon (it was easy to admit now, given the peculiar air in her head). She kicked her legs at the side of the bed. A dragon had taught her a million spells and a curse and had given her license to be care-free... for just a few days... everything had been wonderful. And then, in the moment she had given him- the dragon she thought was a man- her complete trust, it had taken her as though it had chewed her little body and spat it out. With fire.

It would seem as though her trust and faith would be shattered, and that the constant niggling and run-around of thoughts in her head would eventually drive her into a realistic insanity, but staring at the chest, she was overcome by the sensations. The loss, the love, the hatred, and the strange persistence at the back of her soul, a red flag saying "No... this isn't right."


	2. The Descent

**(KAI) **Um... Got a review..."From Aubrey, 'Update it'."  
Well... Okay... I suppose I could.

* * *

**Chapter Two: **The Descent

* * *

I remember your face... oh, it's softness.

And your dark hair, so smooth.

I remember your skin against mine... I want more...

* * *

Raven bit her bottom lip, again, out of character, but she was beginning to see a deterioration of logic. Or... was it character? She shook her head, it was her imagination- playing tricks on her. Definitely. Wench imagination. And it was her imagination (it seemed an easy target to blame) that manifested those sensations, and the sensation of being drawn, or pulled, or even called toward the chest, was surely just as easily blamed on the imagination run wild against her. (This, at least, is what she felt. Or thought she felt.)

Her heart lurched in her chest. Raven groaned, standing to stretch (perhaps, she thought, it might help). (It didn't and never does, but one always hopes.) She extended herself in all plausible directions until it hurt, and felt that soft, delicate feeling come over her as the pain in her chest- the ache- did not abate, but intensified, and the feeling crept like the shadows on the chest. It was a weak thing, that made her feel trembly, and lost, and alone. To be fair, she did hate it, but she also felt perhaps she deserved to feel it after all she had gone through. Raven, even in the throes of heartache, could be responsible about her feelings.

The chest stared mournfully at her, as though it held more secrets than she could have guessed of from the get-go. Malchior... a man... Rorek... a dragon. Who had she fallen in love with? Who had betrayed her? It was so amazingly difficult now- after the facts- to piece together what had truly taken place. There it was- that doubt. That niggling disbelief.

_'I was tricked by a __dragon__ pretending to be a __man__. I don't __love__ him... anymore.'_ A sort of confession that seemed to be more lie than confessionary truth. There was the problem right there- being in love with a dragon. Now, she was sure she had fallen in love (and this had become the easiest note to admit, that yes, she had fallen in love, and was apparently capable of it), that is, very much in love, with a dragon. Wasn't that bestiality? She frowned. That had been a ridiculous thought. An annoying one. She banished it.

He had been a man... when she'd loved him... Paper, but of a man-shape, at the very least. And he had tricked her. Told her lies. She felt her blood boil at it for a moment- betrayal. Sick, disgusting creature, forcing bile and sick at her throat from her own pent-up emotion.

Something about that reminded one of pizza.

The girl sat down on the edge of her bed- resolutely denying the urge to rush across the room and throw open the chest, if only to look at the book once more. Just to touch it- its soft, worn surface bubbled to her fingertips' memories, and the thought of the musty smell of age and magic wafting to her nose once more; oh, the imagining of such a thing occurring again, and the words, all inked, and pleasured to her eyes. Oh, to take it in again.

Because to take it in, would be to have his arms around her, his breath in her hair and his words in her ears. Sweet, nectarous words. She shivered.

Those thoughts, again at the back of her soul, surfaced and gently prodded at her, and reminded her... There might still be hope. You might all of you have been wrong.

And you might not be as alone as you think.

* * *

He paced. He paced like a fictional character might pace if he had a great deal weighing down on his mind. And he did. Malchior would stand, and crouch, and wander, amongst the pages, and think and wonder and remember- and most of all, want and wish and desire. But to no avail. Raven did not come back for him, did not release the binding lock he knew enchested him, did not grace his pages with her delicate, pale little fingers; oh-so Lolita. He groaned and pressed his hands to his flat stomach, butterflies and such a-wander in his gut. Oh, his little Raven- to fight a million dragons and curses for her only to come back.

Only to open the pages and let him reveal himself, in his own words, and ask her aid once more...

Rorek sneered from his pages, "Pathetic mongrel!"

The dragon called from the other depths of the book, as though concealed, as though trapped, and he hissed and threw himself about in anger and annoyance, in aggravation of himself and the man he was bound to the pages with. "I'll kill you! Eat you alive, mage! Oh, for a taste of your blood!"

The dragon was serious, but knew his threats were idle; in no time had they shared the pages, was Rorek capable of reaching Malchior, nor vice the verse. Argumentation ran rampant, and Malchior's pages would shake with the dragon's rage.

"Speak not to me, foul beast!" Malchior turned from the direction, empty-less and cold, that the dragon's heat came from and brought himself to words of comfort within the book. Of a soft bed, and candles to read by. He closed his dark eyes- eyes cold with ice, it seemed, so blue- and pressed a hand to his aching temples. Only to have the girl's hands across his eyes, shutter-fluttering them, and to kiss her at least once. Even after to die would be far from tragic after such event.

He sighed, and rested against the pillows of this place in the book- a scene enlivened and adorned with the inks of imagination, and thought perhaps he might live, just one more day like this, if only he could dream of the dark little beauty- so close. And very, very far away.


	3. One Step Closer

**(KAI)** Well, as far as a plot goes, we aren't rolling on very quickly.

* * *

**Chapter Three**: One Step Closer

* * *

I can see your face...

Your dark blue eyes... watery depths...

I only want to drown...

* * *

Raven stood again, a bit repetitive of her, all things considered, and she wrote it off as restlessness, as wanting and dis-wont. Slowly, she walked to the side of her bed, where the bookcase stood, and pointedly made an effort to read the titles there stacked and piled. They were mis-happed a bit, in their structure. She had not felt the need to organize them in a very long time. Her profile showed to the chest, off in the far corner, and one might imagine seeing a single azure eye slowly turning a gaze to that chest, and then flicker back quickly.

She gave up, realizing she had not particularly absorbed, though she had read, the last ten titles. The girl crossed her arm, with an unsureness, to say the least. One hand gripped into the cloth of her clothing- the clothing cloth a dark, and noticeable blue- and her fingertips may've left little imprints which she did not feel nor think of.

The girl steeled herself, ignored the sensation of drawing in the direction of the shadowed corner; the chest stared at her, thinking its thoughts.

Well.

She blamed her feet, they were restless after all, and they were easy to blame, because of the power they did wield over the rest of her. After all, when one's feet decide to walk toward certain doom against your will, there was hardly anything you could do, right? And she blamed her heart. Her heart which ached and beat so fast against her chest. It made her feel small and feminine. She was almost horrified to recognize the feeling as pleasurable. But it was not so bad, really, if she were honest with herself about it. She also blamed her legs, who were prey to her feet. Ah, if only they were stronger- more willful against defending her against her traitorous feet! But that was a minor detail that doesn't mean anything.

She wandered into the shadows calmly; there was no need to be excited, she told herself, as her heart belied the statement with heady palpitations. Her palms were slick with anticipation, oh to just reach out... and touch again...

It was not as dark in the shadows. One might think, looking over them, and how they oozed like ink across the room's corner, that they would be like pitch to kneel in, and to find oneself ensconced in. But Raven felt the dark move around her almost curiously, like a halo of shadowed wonder, and found it was not so terrible and dark to be wrapped in the embrace of those shadows.

She leaned toward the chest, went to gently run her fingers in the grooves of the wood, like the identifying lines of a human's palm; very unique and individual. The girl did not quite know what she was doing, though she did have a very strong grasp on the concept of what she wanted to do. She did not in those moments, however, admit it. Admitting it was like saying birds who could fly had it better when their wings were a little mangled and bent the wrong way. Kind of... stupid and irksome, to put it bluntly. The shadows, though they did not mean to, brushed and caressed against her light, olive skin. It was a difficult pallor to describe, but might be thought of as the color pale in the palm shadows. A beautiful maiden in an oasis. (Malchior, though he did not know of the current goings-on, could succinctly recall oases in the past- hot, cold, delicious.)

Slowly, with care, she pressed herself against the wood of the chest, as though it hummed with energy she could feel, that made her quiver with anticipation- oh, the cherry of it, of herself, humming together. She could remember Malchior, and his long, lean body, and his voice, and she felt the quivers travel in strange, lovely ways; almost if- if only- he were there.

Her breath came in a little pant- a sort of wish for more, for the obvious. She pressed her cheek against the chest and could see the lock in front of her nose; a simple lock. One flick of the wrist... just a little... nudge... and it would open, open, open...

She saw her fingers trailing across the golden lock, tickle against its cold surface; the girl could watch as she imagined the way it might look unhooked, un-caught, un-locked as locks often are. It seemed almost to glimmer in agreement- a nod of light, a glint of positive reply in a little inanimate object. A glimmer of his eyes there, rather cold, but oh-so inviting.

And the light had left her room by then; the windows no longer let in that tell-tale trickle of sun, and it seemed appropriately to turn in the next direction and see countless stars, but no large, sallow moon. The girl hummed lightly, small lips pressed together in an almost-smile. Weren't the shadows lovely against the bed, there? Sort of... silhouetted. Sort of... inviting.

Definitely a series of strange characterizations. She could not decide if being in closer proximity to where Malchior was what had made her feel these strangenesses, or if perhaps his simply entering into her life after a wish (a little wish really- God knew why it of all wishes had been granted. He's a funny guy that way, when you think on it) was the cause. (And then, wasn't He notorious for a morbid sense of humor? Plagues of frogs and turning wives to salt were never known to be the party tricks of regularly-tempered magicians. But again. Fairy tales.)

She rested her fingers against the gilded sides of he chest, gently running the tips over the smooth-worked metal. Dragon? No... she could not remember a dragon... she could remember only a man... a wonderful, handsome, educated man... who had loved her.

A dragon had betrayed her- but had a man? It seemed now different than it had seemed before. One set of facts which contradicted what she thought may have happened. It made one remember Star Trek, and the transportational tubes of doom. One could never really trust those things, God knew one might end up in another place entirely than was planned, or with your crew mate's leg sticking out of your pelvis, or mayhaps someone could thrust you out of the beam entirely and take your place, and goodness knew what sort of... trouble... that might... cause.

Raven had never been a very big fan of Star Trek, but subliminally absorbing Cyborg's occasional television habits seemed to be suddenly... perfectly, sublime.

It made her wonder over and over and the niggling at her soul's back came back ten-fold at her skull and chest, and her heart beat for it, so much faster and harder and the thoughts that moved like lightning behind her eyes were like a storm themselves, and it was so deliciously, frighteningly exciteful. Oh, God, to be on the right track.

She was shaking, eyes wide, and pupil's dilated with the effort to absorb what light they could from the dark, dark shadow.

Raven pulled back from the chest, her knees drawn together as though having been in answered prayer- and she grasped the lock with similarly as above shaking hands, and was breathing almost in shocks of delight.

The high, whining voice broke into her- sort of shot through, distracted her from her goal and her intention, from her electric reverie, and it said, "Hey, Raven! We're back, you want some pizza, we brought some back! Sorry it took so long!"

The girl shot from the box as though participating in high-danger nuclear fission and scrambled to her feet; her heart raced against her chest in a terrible sort of guilty, shameful terror. For a moment, she felt only like leveling the building, stealing away with the book, and taking her life back into her own hands be it by blood or magic or even radioactive pants- which was not an option, given the surroundings- but she smoothed down her ruffled self and steeled into her normalcy. There may be denying in the past that she did not fell emotion, but there was no denying now- in the clarity of the moment- that she felt the pangs of hunger.

She had not felt them earlier, and decided _that_ may have been due to a very pre-occupied mind.

"...What kind of pizza?"

The girl could hear him make a sort of retching shudder; "Pepperoni, all-meat... mushroom and olives, and vegetarian!"

His mood certainly lightened with the passing food groups. Fool. But as much as she wanted to distance herself from the disgusting little child- this title he earned only by merit of interrupting her in her finest moment of enlightened glory- but hunger did nag at her, and in fact, was causing her an intense pain she'd apparently been numb to. Hunger was a really great change of pace from heartache.

She exited the room as though there was not a box of man in her corner, collecting dust and shadows, and in the hall, it was lit and lighted and bright like day, and she could feel her surety dissipate... almost... fade away... Pizza...

Raven felt her discomfort grow, as did a small headache then- notably at her temples- but followed the beastly, little titan into the kitchen, ignoring his incessant chatter. The group was there, and each of them had a voice, and a face in the light, but she looked at them... and it didn't feel real.


	4. In Dreaming I Find You

**(KAI) **Now that the pre-plot has been successfully drug out, it's time to start introducing the stuff that makes this a serial story instead of a one-shot that took up multiple chapters.

* * *

**Chapter Four:** In Dreaming I Find You

* * *

These dreams- I can not stand them!

Girl, you do not _know_ of the pain you wretch at me!

God, to have you here, to tell you, I could only make you _know!_

* * *

They tried their hand at her life again at the counter; a poke here, a jab there. How're you? What've you been doing? Why do you make it so hard for us to be your friend when you know you need us more than ever now that we've seen a tiny portion of your soul?

For her credit, Raven kept herself in delightfully non-violent composure- though to be frank, the only real reason for this was not so much a love and respect for her friends, as it was the slow dawning of a strange dis-wont to snap at them, slap one of them (and here, one might slowly give a look in BB's poor direction), or really participate in any random violence- despite her frustration. She gave herself many brownie points for allowing the scary little femininity to regulate her actions as she resolutely ate two slices of pizza in the kitchen.

There was conversation of a sort, but not that sort which interested Raven, nor elicited any concrete responses from her. It was very, very dull, she found, and she found it to be devastatingly aggravating. It was a sort of confirmation- Malchior, Malchior, Malchior...

She blushed, halfway through a bite of post Roman-Greco Italian deliciousness- the tomato sauce was deliciously thick and creamy- and was met with the glances of four rather confused teenagers, who could not fathom why Raven might blush at the conversational topic of why the pizza parlor cooks felt it was cool (for them, annoying) to put more cheese than pepperoni on a pepperoni pizza. (It is, of course, to save money; cheese is far less costly in the current supply-and-demand scheme, but you would not expect these kids to know that, given they none of them were in any schooling to speak of.) She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth to look away and mumble, "It's nothing."

And they might even have believed her.

* * *

She could admit, walking slowly into her room, that perhaps she had been thinking too hastily; perhaps she was wrong. And then, mayhaps being there near the trunk, being there so close to where the (she took a deep, shuddering breath for admitting this) evil Malchior lay, was a ploy of his to draw her weakened self to him, to toy with her thoughts and emotions. Perhaps, she should just set the chest on fire, let it burn until there was no longer that temptation; that un-Godly desire to lay herself near him again, to be only so close as to know his presence was near.

It seemed part of her weakness was self-inflicted by her own wanting... Terrible to know a great part of your own soul drove you to desire your own destruction.

She felt the burn in her tear ducts, the close-confined damp of sorrow easing past her dark blue eyes. It was from the thought of his burning, in part, it was the idea of his soul, which she knew was tied up with the pages, crisping and crumbling to ash, never to be near her again. Never to even be close. Oh, it was a dragon! A dragon!

It was a dragon that tricked her, and not a man who beckoned her with shadows now- the pain in this, was heart-wrenching to Raven, and the tears poured with a heavier frequency as she leaned against the heavy door of her room, hiccuping her agony into quietude- and it was not a man she had loved, though it was man's form she'd known. God... to admit this... to liken it to reality as she knew it had to! She clenched her fists in pain, and her own

fingernails bit into her flesh, and to be honest, this pain was refreshing, new, and away, away, away from her heart. She let out a gasp of a laugh, a desperate attempt to salvage her broken heart bits into a bowl, or a Ziploc bag, and at least have them fakedly back together.

She felt the cry boil up in her chest, but bit it back with strength she did not know was still with her, and forced herself across the room. To her additional credit, she did not look at the chest in the corner, did not imagine herself kneeling by it again, and did not fancy the theory again that she had concocted earlier, but allowed the exhaustion- of living like this in belied darkness, and pain- to overwhelm her, and it was such a beautiful sort of oblivion- until at last she collapsed in her much-too-large and much-too-empty bed, and let sleep take, at least temporarily, the pains away. It was soul surgery of another kind.

* * *

He shot up in bed, the memories a tumult against him, and cried in a sort of light anger. It was a groan, a bemoaning sigh of aggravation. Perhaps the claustrophobia was coming on to him; after being out, and free even slightly, it was unthinkable to be trapped here again, with only books and a ravenous beast to keep him company. He stood in his annoyance and stretched in the pages, his eyes shadowed by the ink of a dis-reality.

"Oh! He wakes, does he?" Rorek taunted from his place in the book, and threw his anger in a wave across the words. Malchior's corner rattled and sighed.

"Silence!" The white-haired man bellowed in a real and powerful anger he had not felt in ages- greater than the anger he'd surfaced when the dragon had bested him in his escape attempt only days ago. Eight and a half-days, and maybe nine. Oh, but for the centuries trapped here, it was the longest and most excruciating nine days he'd ever known.

The dragon flicked its tail, snarled and teased, "Oh, little mage, so powerful but unable to call back his pathetic little mongrel-love? I saw her, and had her in my claws, Malchior the great!" The dragon may have grinned and sneered with this thought, and further let his wrath on the man; "I could easily have made her my dinner, Malchior- but such the sweeter revenge to betray her heart with your poisoned words! I am satisfied with your pain, mage! I am exalted!"

The dragon crowed and let its strong emotions travel in painful waves across Malchior's own pages, until he seethed with an ungentlemanly anger, to say the least. "You _beast_! You foul, ill-tempered _monster_! How dare you take from me what I made mine?"

The dragon settled and crooned with malice, "I dare with an ease now associated entirely, and beautifully, on your 'evil, monstrous' shoulders, 'Rorek... dread-dragon'."

Malchior shouted at the name, a single syllable of fury, and the dragon chuckled, quieted, and basked in his utter mastery of Malchior's fate. Oh, precious little fool; his revenge likely was complete.

The man slumped onto his bed, hot tears of anger streaming unadulterated down his cheeks. He did not weep with the power of his voice, but let the heat slip and trickle from his eyes, because it reminded him he was still human, and that he still felt. He wished then with a strength _he_ did not quite remember possessing, that Raven was there- oh, how he wished an audience with her, even briefly, to explain himself, and what had happened- the lies, the betrayal, the dragon- what had truly occurred!

It was as though, almost, just... _almost_... he could feel her there, with her beautiful azure eyes on him, and his truth, represented in salt down his alabaster cheeks, and with her little hands pressed to her chest in surprise and awe- her knees together in that delightful, girly way- a defense against falling or failing in balance, to be sure. He could just _see_ her, in his mind's eye, as he hung his head in his hands and wept, and her could see her with compassion in her heart instead of anger and mistrust.

"Raven," he whispered, voice choked with the effort not to break down in sorrow, "I love you."

He pressed the heels of his hands to his damp eyes, and murmured on the confession he desired only her to hear even something of, until one word fell after the other like bricks in a building toppled down- like the tower around one's heart, a-crumble at the presence- the desired presence- of one's beloved; "It wasn't me! I did not betray you, sweet girl... I was the paper man who loved you, I was the man who taught you the spells and the rituals, I was the man who loved you more than anything else on this earth...! Raven, I was not a dragon."

Oh, he could see her, there, only if he could- her heart-shaped face, a-flush with realization and acceptance of his plight, her love for him returning, like ice melted. "When you went to call my name forth from the book, and _release_ me, Rorek took my name! Raven, a man's power is wrapped up in his identity as a name- it is a curse to have it stolen from you! Raven, he took it... and he took my place. God, my precious girl, I was so happy, for _one moment_, to know that I would be with you soon... and now to know he has laid waste to your feelings of me! Sewn lies into the fabric of our relationship, Raven, _it__ isn't true!_"

"I love you, I love you, I love you, " he shook with emotion, with ungratified confession, and the tears spilt with intensity and wanting, "It was not I who betrayed you! He took my name and told you lies with my voice! All lies..."

He was curled in on himself, and could imagine with ferocity Raven hovering near him, tears of her own belief exalting his existence from betrayer to loved one again... "Raven, please..."

"I love you."

* * *

She shot up in bed, and it was as though she had done it before, or seen it done by someone else, in a strange dance of _deja vu_, and her hands shook as they reached for her face, where the tears flowed... where they pooled on her lips and cheeks, and she could remember dreaming... and being drawn away from her dream...

And Malchior was there, but she could not touch him, could not wrap her arms around him as she had wanted to for what seemed like the longest time, though she felt the familiar pangs of distrust, and knew she withdrew to herself- her hands pressed to her collar bone and knees locked together quaking in an almost-fear... but he spoke...

And he spake the most wondrous things, that made tears come to her eyes... because they were (and she knew this to be true) true.

The morning light poured across her bed, and made her reality meet her dreamings. She had always seen one to work against the other... the shadows of dreams would give her hope, and the light of the sun would remind her of her follies, and burn the dream-made hopes from her mind, from her soul. But now she felt she had something to hold onto- even if it were one more lie.

She rose, smoothed her hair down, and it did reach down, to her shoulders with grace, and crept to the shadows in the corner of her room. To the chest that held trapped the only thing worth having in the world- like Pandora's Box, it still held her hope.

And hope was all she needed, in that moment, before the craving for love returned.


	5. Spiral

**(KAI)** I managed to take a two hour period and stretch it out for four chapters.  
I think I should get an award for that.

* * *

**Chapter Five : Spiral**

* * *

I only love you...

I only love you...

I only love you...

* * *

The dream stuck with her; held onto her and made her shiver uncontrollably. The morning light was far from warmth, and did little for her cooled blood. But then, the pressure rose in her, as she contemplated what had transpired in her mind. Raven crept slowly to the shadow corner; it seemed that then, in the rose of morning, whether the dream had been prophecy, or lies, or a twisted game her imagination was playing with her, nothing mattered. It may have been the point at which she gave up.

Her breath came shallowly, albeit not in fear, and she dropped ceremoniously to the floor before the chest, heart thumping as if caged. (Ribs, of course, notwithstanding.)

He was close. He was right there. She touched the chest as she had done the previous evening, like a dear, close thing, that had protected her only concern. Perhaps when she opened the box, he would betray her again, or syrup his words with honey and darling, and hold her close to ease the knife into her back; perhaps he would rise up and destroy everything she had held protected under her, along with her friends and the city, and move on, content in that he had won some battle against her. Perhaps once she would go to be held by him once more in the shadows and dark, everything would spiral under her again, unwinding her into oblivion.

Perhaps, that process had already been triggered, as in the moment, her hands and ghosted over the wrought and wood surfaces.

Yes. And it was not such a bad thing...

At least oblivion would be sweet.

* * *

He was not sure how much time had passed, but was left with the sensation of having missed many hours. He stood, ran the back of his hand over his eyes, and furrowed his eyebrows in resignation. Mayhaps it was time to admit defeat for the last time, and stick with it. Mayhaps... he could move on. And last in an eternity like this. There were always books...

Memories of teaching Raven the books.

Malchior groaned. This was not the proper way to go about leaving the past in the reverse of you and learning to be alone again, to be sure. (Poor man- eternity with a dread dragon and a ten-thousand count book collection of pieces and novels he'd already read. The literature buff can surely sympathize.)

Rorek was sleeping, it seemed, and did not make noise of himself or agitation of the pages. It was a wonder, but a welcome reprieve.

And then, more of a welcome reprieve, was the sensation of his surroundings expanding, and of his ears catching sound of breath above.

* * *

She was admittedly near tears, Raven seemed hurtled between two extremes- one, she was about to confirm the life-affirming truth of Malchior's love for her, and his identity as a man who'd known and kept her and not a dragon who'd betrayed her, or... she was about to unleash the dragon again, and in doing so, seal the fates a million people and more.

Visions... could dreams be trusted?

Well.

Her fingers shook, and trembled, and almost could not work the latch, until at last, with a sharp little click, it released its own catch and made free of the contents. Her heart skipped a beat at the click. Another step closer. It was incredibly exhilarating- an adrenaline and fear. And she knelt back, and pressed her hands to the sides of the chest, to where they would be opened with the least force... _slowly_...

The chest was opened. Was there no turning back? The lock was not broken, there was fire to be had in a lighted match or flicked cigarette. There was oblivion to avoid, to resort to naught- she blinked rapidly. She could see the book... the _book_... She could stop anytime. But she did not want to. Surely there was a remarkable maturity in admitting she could not stop, allowing herself to know there was no _not_ touching the book, no _not_ reading its words, and no _not_ needing to see him again, even if it meant death. Wouldn't death be better than the constant pain? The never-ending heartache and sorrow? Wouldn't it be better...?

She reached in, her breath caught, and lifted the book by its sides from the enchestment. Raven turned in her sitting, legs tucked beside her, and placed the book on the floor gently, quietly. Oh, for anyone to walk in then, and see her glazed eyes and tempered actions. The drama.

The senses came at her- to have touched the book, with her own little fingers, and to have known its soft leather against the whorls of her identity, and to have even _seen_ this sight again... it bore at her, intent and real. And the smell as well, not a damp or ugly nastiness, but as of a sweet, musky delight she could _just_ remember; the scent of age and magic. Raven quivered with the realizations of what she'd done. There was really so little to stop her from... opening... the book...

So little.

In the book, Malchior soared with the anticipation of what he felt to be happening, it was a miracle to think to wonder to delight in that dear, delicate Raven might have turned her eyes back to him, that she might be there even to ask what had happened, and he knew what he would say! Oh, the things he'd said, and would say again, and _tell_ her, tell her over and over again, that he loved her and there was nothing to hurt her in him! Nothing!

He extended himself, and bid the pages to turn and to open and for to see what he _knew_ awaited him.

_I only __love__ you._

On the floor of her room, Raven jumped slightly, the little fear there, and real in her heart, as the book's cover lifted over and the pages flipped and skimmed and fluttered until they left her peering at the ecstatic face of the man she'd had no room for any other thought for- Malchior with his iced blue eyes, and his thick white hair; his smile. His smile, smiling at her, for her, and ever so in love with her.

Raven hiccuped and shook, and wept into her hands, the tears unabated, and the cries without temper.


	6. Ascention to a Shade

**(KAI) **The soundtrack to this story would blow your mind.  
Another short chapter

* * *

**Chapter Six: Ascension to a Shade**

* * *

My child!

Oh, I can see you...

I can see your tears...

* * *

It was the sight of his face, to be sure, that did it in for her- the golden smile of gratitude- the smile that shouted to the heavens and cried, "She's back! She loves me, yet!" Raven wept, and bawled, and let the tears run through her fingers unadulterated. Malchior's blood ran cold. What sort of 'hello' was this, that made him want only to wrap his arms around her and keep her trapped away from the rest of the world, if only to prevent the tears from coming again; but he had thought; "No- I should not immediately make my entry into her life as the paper man, for that it might terrify her- she should _know_ the story, before-" And it had been then, in the middle of his frantic train of thought, and of exhilarated longing to speak, that the girl for whom he gave all his thoughts, began to sob at the sight of him. He was probably not thinking, but leapt forth from the shadows, assumed the paper shape, and knelt beside her.

She flinched and reared at his touch, and at the touch, he seemed more, and flickered in between paper and reality, and his concerned face seemed unaware of this- as his eyes searched hers; she could feel he only saw her, and it was terrifying flattery. The man Malchior hovered over her, and seemed so sad for her, so frightened for her emotions. Too much?

She scoot away from him, eyes wide- this was danger, she knew it! Oh, it was a mistake, a terrible mistake, she should be so repentant for this sin- oh, _God!_ Malchior cooed her name, and wrapped his arms around her shaking shoulders, confused and unhappy at the turns of event- what was it that haunted the girl's expression? That pain and fear? And she beat at his chest with her little fists, with little power or conviction, and shrieked and shouted for him to leave her alone, to leave her, Oh God, kill her, it was too much...!

"Dear child," Malchior tightened his grips around her, pressed her against his self, and hoped it might soothe her from the hysterics she threw uncharacteristically at him; his precious pretty love, afraid and beating at him, shaking her head and moaning, "Calm, please, I... won't _hurt_ you!"

"Ooh..." she moaned and panted in her terror, and no longer had the strength, the power to fight him- to fight his strong, tall self, wrapped around her so safe and warm, and protective; and she collapsed against his chest, while the pent-up emotion of tears ran its course from her soul and down her cheeks, "I... I dreamt of you..."

Hiccups tore through her words, and she pressed her face below his collarbone, and could hear his heart- a strong, rhythmic beat that her own heart could take a liking to, and began emulating. Malchior, almost dully aware of his reality- which did not bind him in paper, touched and stroked her hair with one near-shaking hand, and whispered slowly, "I never thought you would come for me... I must tell you... I am _not_ a dragon, dear child, I..."

There was so much for her to know... but she shook her head violently against his chest, "I know... I dreamt I was with you, but you couldn't see me. You were crying and talking to yourself. I wish I could have..."

But the words were lost in a burst of fresh tears; she could never have imagined herself in this situation. God knew her powers would run away with her any moment, and her character might forever be lost. How could she return to the angry reservation? The cold words and looks? She felt so alive with her pain creeping from her, as of a beaten enemy crawling from the battlefield. "Was it a dream, Malchior?" it was a murmur of need from her; a desperate want for none of it to _be_ a dream, but a reality she could finally live with.

"One night before this morning, I had fought with Rorek, my child, and I wished you might bear audience to my story..."

It seemed to click, to wretch together the pieces of the puzzle magnificently, and Raven shook in his arms, as though an earthquake and taken its turn in her body. She shook her head less vigorously, and clutched a hand into his clothing, curling closer to him, and the feel of being without need for fear of this man. Malchior's breath came in as a deep sigh, and he gently blew air over the top of her head; a soothing action, and one of affection he could only begin to describe.

"Raven! Raven, you okay? We heard screaming!" the flushed girl paled in the shadows where she embraced, and did not move. What could be done now? Would her team-mates... handle... this revelation of time? She pressed her forehead to Malchior's collarbone- to his credit, he remained silent, and made barely a breath in the room.

"Raven?" Robin's voice had never before caused her such fear or worry.

She took a deep breath from her bowing pose and shouted, "I'm fine! Fine! I had a nightmare!"

Raven had not had much air in her lungs to begin with, and the forceful holler left her light-headed and short-breathed, until her vision blurred and darkened and the only thing keeping her steady was Malchior, the man she had now to protect from her friends... until... perhaps an opportune time... He began blurring himself, back to paper and less sturdy to lean on, until he regretfully released her with a mournful look of "I'm sorry." She nodded, and picked herself off the floor, pulled herself from the shadows, and leaned against the door of her room.

"I had a nightmare," the girl reiterated, trying to recapture a tone of cold nonchalance.

The reply was belated, almost a second-thought, "You wanna talk about it?"

"No."

Raven smiled; that was a good syllable, a reminder of how she had been only ten days before. She could play her part for a while longer, until she could become her transcended self again. Oh, to bear white.

And to look down, and view her chest and boots from the angle, she could see, in delight, that her garments had ascended to a pearly, glowing white.


	7. Dive

**(KAI) **Seven is a lucky number.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**: Dive

* * *

I've had you in my arms...

Only for a moment...

And already I must be bereft of you...

* * *

Raven stepped from the door in and held herself in review; the clothing cloth which traveled and wrapped around her arms and hips did not coolly shroud her in the mysterious and dark blue; lay there on her skin was the light and airy, and delightful shade of light. White thrummed off of her in waves; it was an odd transformation, to have occurred in the fabric of her outfit, but it showed readily in her eyes and expression- in the sparkle and up-turned hopefulness. The girl turned in a circle, only to feel the lightness around her, and to try to dispel the last little worries weighing at her unhappily, and at last turned to the shadow corner, where the chest sat open, and the book lay closed.

"Malchior," she whispered, a walk across the room becoming fast a sprint. She came to rest on her hip beside the book, and gently raised the corner of the cover, "Malchior..."

"Wonderment," came the response, a near-happy utterance, and the inked expression of a loving face.

"How can I make this work?" the girl asked, running a finger over the aged paper, "I want you out here, with me."

It was an honest statement, which came as another admittance for her, and made her cheeks glow with embarrassment, as though she had made some terrible little demand of him, which was entirely uncalled for; she scooted closer to the book regardless. "Christen me Malchior, so that I am not Rorek in the pages of this book, my child, and we will... figure it out..."

"I... christen you 'Malchior'," she began, and then continued with the extended prestigious titles he had associated with as a living man, until he beamed with pleasure. It was easy to say his happiness made her heart flutter with delight, but she could not quite put serious stock in the ritual; in that, it seemed as laughable as a camera picturing one's soul away. But she made the utterances, for his sake, and did not regret it, for at least a slight fear of the wrath of old ways. (But only a little.)

She leant down, and pressed her cheek to the withered pages, the musky magic of age smell wasting to her nose like the reminiscence of a youth, and she could near feel the beat of Malchior's heart to her ear- but she dared not invite him from the book again, till yet she understood fully what was swirling around her as a mystery still unraveling. "You were out with me, and you weren't paper... How?"

A hand only from the book, just resting across her hair, was there, and the voice it belonged to resonated in her chest from its closeness, "You."

Raven blushed, as in the statement had been a compliment of her somehow, but she did not reach for further elaboration, as the understanding passed from the man to her, like the words of a book from the past- her emotions, and her sensations, which she had kept in check for so long, for fear of their uncontrollable nature... now under her full wieldable, and working with her. So... she had advanced as she allowed herself to become a living, feeling thing?

And had Malchior been a catalyst in this? _Surely_... as the Nubian lands lie south of the fourth cataract in Egypt of the ancient times... She could believe that... she could believe that nine days of pain had made her stronger, had made her better... she could believer her love for this dark, shadowed man had made her the light...

"I want only to be with you," that dark whispered, and released the girl's purpled dark hair to retreat to the ink pages.

"Me, too..." Raven sat up fully, and stretched, and rested her hands on her knees. "Tell me how I can get you out... And only you."

The ritual would take hours, and such concentration as Raven had never contemplated. For that there were two "Malchiors" in the book, to extract her goal by name was unthinkable, lest she desired a repeat performance of the destruction and damage she had been so terrified of... Perhaps easier made it was the real Malchior near her as she prepared; the true man sitting nearby, bound to the book, but bold and excited, and alternating between a realistic appearance and the paper existence. Raven would only, to her credit, look at him occasionally, and was a bit at a loss for what to say while she mixed and messed with the herbs and spell-powders which made up the vapor she'd need create for the spell... _the_ spell... to make him more real than sitting near her- and oh-so near her, it heated her face, and her stomach with butterflies; yes, she was definitely at a loss for the right words to say- as then that the dust settled and the truths came out that there was something leaden on her tongue. It seemed inappropriate to approach him, in a way, as he quietly kept out of the way, save to offer words of the occasional advice. Embarrassment plagued her- to have admitted she was in love with this man to _herself_ had been relatively easy, now to think on it, but to admit this fact to _the __man_. Well. A different story entirely regardless of how she knew he felt- and how she knew _he knew_ what she felt. Confusing only slightly. (Quite like a page from the Alice in Wonderland novel; you may think you've got things under your own control, but you slowly come to realize, perhaps you are not the only one guiding your actions. Or something curiouser like that In fact, perhaps more like "Rusalka".)

So then Raven was content to murmur the blessings and prayers and mantras which would go into the road she intended to "build" for Malchior, carefully so that only he could tread it, and also divided her time to manipulate the other poultices, which she intended to mar the book with carefully, to prevent the dragon Rorek, who bore Malchior's name also in a twist and switch, from ever exiting the book. As of designing a bridge to her plane of reality, but placing a gate at the one side, that only Malchior would be allowed to trespass.

That Malchior hummed contentedly where he was, leaning with one leg propped on the chest, and he was not doing so much other than watching her, which brought roses of color to her cheeks- this seemed slightly juvenile to her, and she would suppress the heat with all her might, but Malchior would only chuckle, and continue thinking his thoughts.

It was only once, and probably near ten ante meridiem, that she was bothered, and as she was, Malchior shot her a panicked look of fear and made to ooze back to the book, but she frowned and leveled a hand at him, a silent, "No, I'll take care of it."

It was Cyborg at the door, knocking with his large fist, "Yo, Raven! You doin' all right? I made breakfast, if you want any."

"No, thank you," she called, one hand raised to close the door telekinetically should the metal man decide to try his hand at opening it, "I'm meditating."

It seemed too abrupt, and she almost regretted it; with a smile to herself, to added (and felt it would be a nice opener to her sweet revival), "Save me a plate in the microwave, I'll be down later!"

"All right, then- don't hurt yourself!" said surely with a wink he knew she'd imagine him with; it had worked.

"Sweet child, you are changing in their eyes gradually; clever."

She smiled sweetly at the compliment, and continued quietly with her work. It was a difficult task- but she resisted the urge to crawl to him, into the shadows where he rested, and never let him go.

* * *

It was a sort of weakness, but she finally admitted her hunger, and stood in the midst of the candles and powders, and herbs and potions. (It was all so extensive, and had she not had Malchior right there referencing for her, she'd never have been able to keep it all in track.) Slowly, shyly, she went to him, and knelt beside him to hug his shoulders, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

His hand lingered on her back and he mumbled, "I shall enjoy the taste of food again when all is said and done."

Raven grinned and winked, a sort of new thing to do with her face, which made her want to giggle- which of course, also fell into a realm of strange new things to do with herself. She forgave herself the indiscretion, and even managed not to skip down the halls to retrieve her breakfast a-waiting.

The unusually usual scene greeted her, and it at first surprised her. She hovered back for a moment, before they noticed her, and wondered suddenly how she might fabricate a temporary lie for the change of her fabric's colour. To play it off as meditation? Perhaps it was the only way. She could see BB and Cyborg at the television terminal, playing a race game- how long had it been since seeing _that_ sight? There furious antics were so... bright and cheerful... it was hard to place as normal to her. And Starfire chatting merrily away with Robin about whatever strange 'new thing' had encountered her fancy; how could that be real? It was as though, almost, she was walking through a field of ghosts, but she was the dead in the situation. Was it too much time in the solitude? Too much time spent away with the creeping shadows and their tales of woe and darkness? Too much time in the inked world, in books and in novelry, where the real was defined as the author's stroke of decision and the unusual became the usually expected? To see the bright room and the ruckus, all so familiar and far away... she blinked... and took a deep breath... and wondered if she could plunge herself back into that world. The living, breathing... _smiling_... world.

Raven touched to the ground, and walked into the base room with a smile- if she could not dive in perfectly and wave them all into normalcy and acceptance of her new self, perhaps she could at least swim around until the water of them adjusted. Into the kitchen area, and it was the sound of the microwave opening that drew their attention, that made them look and blink and gasp.

"Friend Raven!" the alien girl spun to greet her, and clapped her hands together in delight, "You have changed again!"

Raven smiled and brought out the pancakes from their plate; she would eat them plain. "Yeah... I... well, I re-evaluated a lot of things, Star."

Robin looked at her curiously, with the hint of suspiciousness creeping behind the mask- the look of wheels and cogs moving slowly and steadily in all directions at once; he would be the one to worry over should he begin formulating... _theories_. He came up to the kitchen and slipped onto a bar-stool, "So you're feeling... better?"

"Of course," Raven said, and could not keep the air of delighted secrecy from her voice.

One eyebrow quirked, she saw, and she may have frowned were it not a strange thing to respond with, she thought. Instead, she smiled, and munched happily on the folded pancake. For so far; things had gone all right; and if she could hold off their curiosity only a few more hours... Oh, the evening... and the stars with Malchior by her side. And she was sure at this moment she could not worry that he might leave her, or abandon her in any way once she had released him of his prison- because it was thoughts like that which lead to disaster. Total trust and be hurt... or suspicion... and pain...

Raven made her resolution to keep her cynicism at bay, and excused herself from the situation she currently floundered in; the more quickly she finished her work without interruption, the better. Once she had secured the mage and forever rid the world of the dragon, then she could be at ease... _content_...

And perhaps the group she lived with might even accept that.

* * *

He greeted her before she could greet him- as soon as the door had been shut behind her, arms had wrapped around her shoulders and a breath went nuzzling in her hair. The arms ghosted around her waist and shoulders and the breath... _shiffed_... to her ears, and she shivered with the man around her. Malchior turned her and held her at the hips, with the serious expression he felt creeping on him, in intensity, and he saw her in his eyes within a sort of tunnel. The man stepped her forward, until she was backed to the wall, and all his in scope. She could go no where. The girl gazed up at him, pupils dilated, and with shaking arms lifted her hands to rest on his chest; this was to be possessed in a way, to be pressed against the wall of her own room- pressed against the tall, imposing figure of Malchior... And he held himself to her tightly, until her breath quaked from her lips for no reason; he held on hand to the back of her hair, and let his lips trace over her forehead and down her neck- to there gently smell her apple conditioners. She gripped the cloth of his top as her knees shook embarrassingly; he was... intense in this.

Raven let herself be held against the wall for a moment, and Malchior whispered affectionately in a language she did not understand, and it seemed so loving and possessive. The girl was sure there might be something she should do with his sudden attentions, or something she might say... but her life experience fell short, and she could only melt with him filling her senses. Until he pulled away and slipped back to the shadows to watch her, and let her finish her work. And she worked very hard- as hard as one could, shaking like she did.


	8. Weaving Spells

**(KAI)** Where will this chapter go?  
I've been working on a thread-bare plot skeleton.  
As far as the plot in my head went it was A-D-G, I've been throwing in B, C, E, and F as I went along.  
I guess that makes this "Chapter F".  
Whatever, you don't care.

* * *

**Chapter Eight**: Weaving Spells

* * *

Beautiful, dear, little child...

You belong only to me...

Possession... Love...

* * *

Raven sat up to take a breath and a break- the sunlight was high in the sky, a noon-time blessing which maintained the reality of what she was doing- beauty of shadows or no, there was concentration and logic that only the light afforded. She toyed with her broken lock of hair, and it twirled around her chin, where it had grown, but was still inches shorter than the dark hair that swept her shoulders. She did not think she would trim her hair to be even again... the short lock was a reminder, in a way... Not exactly a good one... but an... _important_ one.

Malchior's vision suddenly tore to the book, which tremored slightly, and appeared to be agitated. Raven's heart froze, and Malchior immediately vanished to the pages, as though drawn, and his look said, "I'll take care of _this_."

She could not help her heart and its beating- could not still the fear which coursed through her mercilessly. For the danger of the dragon knowing, of the dragon interfering, and the potential hazard... the positive _evil_...

Raven resolutely, a typicating frown etched to her face, which did help her focus, and did help remind her she was still who she was, and soon she was perfecting the finishments on the work she had spent hours doing. Perhaps now... perhaps soon she could begin the tasks, and at hand perhaps succeed- the only cue was that from Malchior.

She waited, and at long last, watching the book shake occasionally, he cam clawing from the book, propelled by a great roar of noise, of anger, and he reached out, torso ensconced in the pages, to touch Raven, or grab her, and she shook her head, horrified, as he was drawn back into the inked book- a shout of pain his only warning.

The girl drew a sharp breath and grabbed a basket near her- in went the bottles and the bowls, in went the little bag of powders- she was almost terrified to, but she grabbed the book in trembling hands and shoved it under her arm; one small hand grasped the basket's handle, and with the items she burst toward the door- a telekinetic nudge was all it took to blast the wood off its hinges- was she that wired?

And then- wasn't she stronger? More adept? In all the time Malchior had known her- a few weeks? he had always been paper... and now, to have seen him flickering into reality as a man; well, that was her... her influence... _on him_. And now to contemplate the surge of fury rocketing through the book under her arm- the dragon had been sealed in another realm of the book, unable to touch Malchior... with her around... with her _influence_... What was Rorek capable of? Good God, what could he accomplish now? The girl's heart skipped- Malchior's safety rambling through her head unadulterated- would she be able to save him?

And running through the halls of the Tower she and four other teens abided in, she did not notice the youngest walking down the hall towards her; in her haste to reach the roof, the open air, she did not at all recognize his presence- and she did _not_ see, that the boy of beasts saw, and was horrified to recognize- Malchior's book.

Her breathing was heavy, and heavy in shallow, for that her chest seemed so constricted and achy; this was anxiety eating at her. This was fear, and worry, and wonder at the outcome of things, and it hurt her so much, she might cry out- because it was like the old pain... It was so much like the old pain it was crippling. But she seemed stronger now, to herself, at least, this is what she convinced herself, and she flew- that is, she ran very quickly to prove she could, rather than the obvious- and soon, burst onto the roof with only a minor stitch in her side. Perhaps she had spent a bit too long holed up.

The book quaked under her arm and the sky was going dim with over-clouding. Perhaps a cool spell, perhaps rain... Raven shivered and it seemed that as she fell to her knees several yards from the doors that the light which she had depended on all morning was finally abandoning her, and fading into the cool grey of afternoon; a storm would be far from helpful, and for a moment she wished- desperately _wished_- she didn't have to- didn't have to do all she was required to so _soon_, so _suddenly_... because regardless of what Malchior had said, and been, she did not want to believe she _was_ stronger... Maybe because... it meant she had grown up enough to admit she needed help... she was emotionally maturing- and this was were she could find her strength, she saw.

It all really tied together in a rather aggravating fashion.

With shaking hands, the girl leveled the book on the ground, and began muttering a string of spells together so quickly, it all seemed a buzz. Perhaps it was a buzz... Everything around was spinning in a way, and blurry around her; the spell was being weaved in the air around her. Powder- grey purple green and sandy- spread across the volume's tremoring cover- and Raven uttered the words over and over and prayed to whoever was listening they trapped the dragon where he stood. And then, and then _more words_, all mumbled so quickly- they tumbled over her tongue almost beyond her, as though she was not entirely the only one in control of herself, and this was Malchior through her, keeping her safe from mis-speaking, mayhaps.

The dragon roared and the wave of sound issuing from the book sent the girl tumbling back, but she crawled quicksilvery to her knees in front of the book and bade it still so she could muster the strength to tear its cover over and move onto the next step of the spell. Was it rain on her neck? Little droplets spattering.

The girl's little breath hitched as she doused the book in a damp poultice and herb, and the volume even seethed with it- with the damnable attempt of an outside force to weaken its walls- this book was not weak! Was strong and had kept its prisoners well, and oooh, it _seethed_.

Raven thought maybe she was crying. She had no proof of this phenomena- everything being far too blurry and fast for her to comprehend much of anything beyond the order and form of the words spilling from her mouth and the simple motions her hands must make to succeed at her great task- but it seemed to her, in the back of her head, she must be crying, just a little.

This was the part where she must forge a road only for Malchior to tread- a road to home.

And then it rained in earnest, and a thunder of voices and footsteps accompanied the thunder and lightning grandly; the book quaked and she shook with it, like vibrations hitting the knees, and she murmured the words over and over and over again, until her mouth was dry and her throat threatened raw at the force of her unpaused speech and mannerism. Oh, and the colors spread up, up from the book, and they swam with the blur that was reality, and it was _not _a paper man who clawed his way up the road of light, but a normal, bleeding and sweaty man, who seemed all but invalid with a need to escape.

Raven was thrilled in her soul to see him- it was a thrill of emotion up her spine, but she did not waver, she violently threw another handful after handful of the grey green purple powder and almost shrieked the words of binding at the dragon who also made his attempt to escape. And she did not feel the door of the Tower's roof shoot open, nor the clamor of feet become assembled on the roof's floor, but she heard, with a ringing clarity, the shout of horror, and the gasping, and the utter force of shock... in their chords...

"_Raven!_"

Robin came to a startled halt outside of the sway; he could see the girl in question kneeling serenely with her back to the group, quietly chanting and weeping in the rain- the sway was the colours erupting from the point in front of _her_, which, Robin could tell with fear, after peering around her, was a book- moreso, _the_ book, and there was a swirl of majestic wind encircling the girl- throwing her hair up at angles and whipping the purpled black hair into a state of array- her cloak was noticeably absent.

To assess the situation; to behold it and understand what it meant... It seemed now it was up to him to save Raven from herself.

Cyborg shouted the girl's name, and his brotherly concern- fear, worry, terror- was met with only more forceful chanting, and the beast boy made his call, and was ignored, and the alien girl with the pretty, flowing red hair could only look on in horrified presentation. There was very little to say; very little to utter, that would _force_ the situation to make sense. And the only thing which could be uttered- which could be the resolution to the confusion- and the _rallying cry_ which would _snap_ confused, haunted, and _controlled_ Raven out of it- whatever "it" was, as far as a swirling mass of energy was concerned- was the name which, as _Raven_ was perfectly aware, would ruin everything.

That is- to name the name which under no circumstances, should be named.

"Malchior!" Robin shouted, rushing the sway head-on with a staff spinning deadly in his palms, "Leave her alone!"

Perhaps at that moment raven knew the end of the world had come. Perhaps she had seen the careful work she'd done ripped apart strand by energetic strand; and seen the spell she'd woven to prevent the dragon formerly called Rorek from clawing his way out of the book- just... fall apart... as soon as the stronger magic... just _tied_ to a name... was cast.

And Robin had no idea.

Malchior gasped, tumbling to the ground in a semblance of grace, and for a moment, was protected by the sway of energy and color and air; he crept kneeling with speed at Raven, whose face showed the realization before anything else- the look that said... "It's been ruined...! _He's coming out!_" Malchior could only offer the condolence of a soft look of his own- a gentle reminder of that no matter what happened... "_I'll be with you._"

But the spell's weave had been broken, and within a moment of taking Raven's little hands in his own, Malchior was being viciously swung at by a long, metal staff. Repeatedly. (Nice sensation to experience right off the bat. Simply _scrumptious._)

"Get _away_ from her!" Robin shouted, darting around the mage with agility and grace, "Now!"

A snarl, a command- and one aimed at a far more advanced creature than himself. Malchior, with a wave of the hand, stood in the dispelling sway, and cast off the boy with the flick of a wrist. Robin went sailing back, and the attacks made by the remaining members of the 'titan' team became apparent- a blast from a Cyborg's cannon deflected with a grimace; a fiery ball of doom burnt into nothingness with an outstretched hand, and the violent assault of a wild beast... brought down with only a dark, serious, look.

Malchior seethed with anger and quickly shot a hand down to pull Raven up to his side and he leapt up with alarming talent to the tiered frame above the roof's door to gaze down; the girl was admittedly a bit dazed, and had tried very hard to scream- no, don't attack him- but her throat had closed and her anxiety had frozen her lungs, and the only statement she could make was in hot, round tears rolling down her supple cheeks. This was a girl who had spent years carefully guarding her emotions; crafting nonchalance to a finer art- taking blasé to the extreme and doing it only to _protect those around her_. And it seemed as soon as she allowed herself sensation, and allowed her imagination even the _slightest_ raidway... those she had protected turned on her... and the source of her happiness, with nary a thought directing to querying first- Just a simple, simple... "Why?"

Raven was a girl who had spent years devoid of emotion, and the tumult she had experienced in the past month was leaving her... worn, to say the least. She opted to wrap her arms around Malchior's waist, and let him explain; or perhaps- and this was to her ears' horror- let Rorek-called-Malchior explain for them _all._


	9. From the Mouth of a Dragon

**(KAI)** Started writing this about an hour after submitting the last chapter.  
Well... we're getting toward the end of our journey- you and I.

* * *

**Chapter Nine:** From the Mouth of a Dragon

* * *

Pathetic, _simpering_ fools...

Aggravations in the face of real threats...

And threats themselves to what's _mine_.

_Fools!_

* * *

Had it not been for the tearing, ripping hole in reality being formed in the middle of the roof, one might think the attack on the innocent mage Malchior may have persisted, but it is really very difficult to focus on a relatively normal humanoid target, when a large, fire-breathing, dark-scaled and grinning dragon is dragging itself out of inked existence to play "topple civilization". At least, it's very hard unless you're a very, very single-minded person. Who can ignore that sort of thing.

"Oh, my God," Cyborg uttered, dropping his arms in a temporary shock. He beheld the dragon as it tore through into reality, and could see the vestiges of the sway quickly dissipate and dry at its clawed feet. Beyond its massive bulk, was Robin rising up and over to re-evaluate the mess (that he had made, but we won't speak of such things).

And the rain came down with vengeance, came skittering across the collective skin of the group and slicked them down wet; it perhaps was considering a clean fight. It perhaps was misunderstaken.

Re-evaluation- the cogs moving behind Robin's eyes- the fears flitting in Starfire's... the confusion and shock in the men aside, and poor Raven weeping into the cloth of Malchior's shirt- which was likely the major cause of confusion there and there out- that Malchior- unsettling beautiful and proud, was standing high above with Raven, and a dragon- a dragon which had been previously identified as the "evil Malchior"- was crouching viciously on the roof nearby. One might suspect Santa and Jesus are the same person, because they are never seen together. One might also be a raving loon.

"Oh, freedom, freedom!" it cried, lashing its tail thisaway that and letting breath a smoke of air by venue of its nose, "I have been called again from the pages, and oh, what a _pleasure_ it is to see you all again."

Robin regrouped by the other teens and chose the most simple route to solving the two people- one person- same place- different places- dilemma- he attacked the fire-breathing threat. Swiftly, the other teens followed a suit- one after the other bombarding the larger, darker, and all together nastier beast. Malchior gritted his teeth, a plan formulating in ice blue- the girl on his side ran a hand over her eyes in frustration and even pulled herself to stand on her own. The utter annoyance now wracked her- that the cretins she lived with- well meaning and such- would _dare_ make a ruination of what she'd worked and fought so hard for! And all in a word that her careful preparations would be destroyed- Malchior, Malchior- a name, a name! The ancients were bastards!

"Raven, my love!" the dragon crowed, heedless of the vast array of punishment its body did not acknowledge, "What a delight! Shall we catch up?"

The creature seemed then to howl with a choking laughter (perhaps the vocal chords of such an animal would not be so well equipped for laughter- all that fire on the tongue and such), and it flew up a hundred or so feet to bellow its delight from a far more superior angle. Like gnats, Starfire and BB did there damnable best to assault the creature aerially, and suspiciously mechanic blasts of destruction continually wracked into the sky; but the dragon did not seem really to notice; like a hippo.

Raven seethed from the perch Malchior had ascended her to, her little fist clenched and burning with darkness; most aggravatingly, the dragon's taunting and attitude notwithstanding- was that it was her what made him so deafeningly strong. It had been the girl who made the mage a man in the quasi-reality of being trapped within a book, and it was what made the dragon circling prettily above, choosing the best spot from which to turn the tower into a burning ball of doom, so damn strong; so fucking impervious.

Raven felt her feet leaving the ground before the thought to face the dragon even really registered; and Malchior, with a mutter, was quickly levitating beside her, an equally angry and insulted tone of face plastered on. There from the ground came a shout- a command of a sort, and it was directed at Raven from Robin, though it admittedly did not have any syllables attached to it. Raven allowed a brief glare in the leader's direction, and it was a searing expression of blame and masterful intimidation; "Look what you've done!"

The girl trembled with the force of such an unadulterated rage; she had never known herself capable of such fury. "I could have made it work, but you've interfered! God... damn you!"

And the fabric of her clothing seemed to glow as her pupils dilated farther than was normal, till what left remained of her eye was a very absorbing black emptiness, which she did not particularly know about nor notice, but must be said here, was pretty darn creepy. With venom, she addressed the beast, "_You are not supposed to be here!"_

The dragon chuckled (again, a rather gravelly sound; much like a volcano considering eruption), "Oh, is that so, my pretty little stupid?"

And there was Malchior hovering beside her, a new sway wrapping around them with startling heat; the arm which touched around her waist and the wisps of silver-white hair on her skin through the white cloth of her clothing sent shivers up her spine, and a blast of fire from the dragon's mouth was deflected away, into the sky, by Malchior's fearless hand.

On the ground, a vague and sort of off-hand voice, the metal man's- and it seemed a bit lost- "What... the hell is going on around here?"

And from the roof one saw the dragon take back a few yards, regroup itself, and rush at the duo floating in the late afternoon rain; a shady haze accumulating quickly around them. A halo. Around were the titans assembled and battered from their own wasted efforts- was such a creature so much stronger really than it had been? It seemed like so long ago since the last they'd seen it. There was not much to do else than pray, and hope, and the four teens were focused entirely on the Raven they had known and the Raven they would get to know- and the man she'd resurrected to make it that way.

From the ink, from the past, from the claws of the ancients themselves.

There was little need then for talk in the raining; and only could they watch in a mix of horror and amazement. Up above- there was destruction.

Raven panted with a little breath- exhaustion- from what was a bit mysterious- was talking a bit of a toll on her, and the drive behind keeping her steady was the burning-out rage for the contemptuous beast and the heat of Malchior's fingers on her hip. Strength of emotions; and curses; spell-weaving and tears, and all of it haunted by the foul, grinning beast in the sky. The clouds rumbled approvingly above, and Raven felt her emotions boiling over her, pouring out almost tangibly... and Malchior was there, his hair whipping in a wind she could barely feel, but for the strain of it on her own locks. Maybe she was going numb.

"You sick, awful _bitch_," Raven spat, hardly to the dragon than at Fate herself (who at the time was filing her nails, listening to a rather amusing story told by Hermes, a youth with flaming mannerisms). And her hands came out of their own accord it seemed, leveling at the beast with the palms- sway, sway- and she was chanting again, her old mantra. The black came and it held with white- a desperately burning white-

"Oh, little Mage's girl is going to stop me again? Not now!" The dragon turned a circle in the air, "Not this time!"

And the lights- energy with attitudes- swam around the mythical beast, and wrapped him and tried to keep him still, but as what was made her stronger what _made her stronger_... made the dragon an ever more fierce opponent. Raven sobbed, the wet of the rain chilling her skin and making her sniffle, and lighting emboldened Malchior beside her- behind her- he moved liquidly in the air, till the girl's back was pressed flush to his chest. Her heart beat the faster, beat against her chest as even as her knees trembled for relaxation- for relief from the tensions- and she could feel his breath in her sopping hair again, feel his locks wetly cling to her neck and forehead; the man was chanting and weaving a spell around them as his hands snaked over her arms and his fingers entwined with hers, shaking, and the lights went twofold- tenfold- and the dragon seemed suddenly to succumb; with a furious beating of wings- an attempt at flatterless escape, it heaved itself, but was ensnared by the curse, but the force of Malchior and Raven's emotions running together- beat for beat- seemed too much. Rorek snarled and growled and cursed to the sky, breathed fire in gasping sucking bursts, as of a final attempt at purchasing their deaths, but his body was drawn down and compressed and his soul burst down, down, down, until only a scrambling claw reached from the volume, which one might note the other titans studiously avoided.

It seemed almost anti-climactic... the way Raven fainted in the air, and Malchior descended with her in his arms; but it was a sweet sort of climax, with Raven head rested against his chest, and fingers loosely curled in his tight shirt. Her face was of a slight smiling sort, as though instead of the haunting of Rorek's cruel words, past and present, or the sensation of betrayal and lost- as though instead, all she was aware of was the steady, strong, beat of the man's heart. And it _beat_.

For his part, Malchior also seemed worse for the wear, and blinked bleary, icy blue eyes at the group apologetically, rather than with anger, as he was wont to do at the moment, given the circumstances; "I suppose you might be wondering what's... Ah... going on?"


	10. Peace

**(KAI) **Turns out... Nubia lies south of the _first _cataract of the Nile River. Damn.  
Also, I made up a lot of word, so sorry for that.  
This afternoon I caught a few minutes of the "Spellbound" episode, and I though to myself, "Goodness, how many times are they going to rerun this?"  
Malchior seems to have this effect (Raven: "That's funny; you're funny."); and I'm happy to write it to the end.

* * *

**Chapter Ten:** Peace

* * *

I have suffered more than any man should...

For one thousand years, suffered for the peace of the world...

And I _deserve_ my prize; I will not suffer _any more_.

* * *

It was Cyborg under an umbrella with Beast Boy, out on the rocks with a barrel and a book of matches to burn the book of evil. The rain had poured on, and it was a none-too friendly drizzle, complete with thunderous rolling clouds and lightning-fast flashes of electricity; the two young men held somber expressions, and were silent, save for the swipe of a match head 'gainst the pack box. Fizzle, flicker, flame, and the match was dropped in a small cacophony of rustling papers; of driftwood recycled and already dead; the book in Beast Boy's claws, dropped and watched in morbid fascination as it burned, and as the creature inside it tremored and shook the leather binding, and wailed in agony. It was not torture, really... it wasn't...

But the boys could have been pictured perhaps with tears, unshed or not.

* * *

She was laid out on the couch, her head resting warm on his thigh, subconscious to the lithe fingers in her hair; Malchior could speak and do this, and sip demurely at the tea in his free hand with a delicious air of conquerment. Across him, balanced lightly, and perhaps a bit agitatedly, was Robin, an intense expression on his lips and eyes; he regarded the man before him with a sort of vicious regard- his anger stemming from the righteously cool and superior attitude of the man. What a _man_! God, for her to have fallen in love with such a cold, self-important, elitist _prick_...! Not that Robin cared... No...

Still frustrated, Robin crossed his arms, "So... You were 'the paper man' who taught Raven the spells... and Rorek was a dragon who..."

"Stole my name, young sir, and made away with the weaves of the spell intended for _my_ escape from the book." Oh, said with_ such _the know-it-all tone, and that 'canary cat' smile creeping on the man's lips- infuriating bastard!

Robin held his tongue from the scathing remark itching at his vocal chords, and continued; "Up on the roof today, Raven was trying to release you again?"

Iced blue eyes narrowed with a slow circular smirk, "Yes; and she may even have succeeded, if not for... circumstances."

The man ruffled him more than any other person had in his lifetime; not even the Bat himself had pressed his buttons so carefully and casually, and fucking _accurately_- Jesus. The flush of red anger died of its own volition on Robin's cheeks, and he finished the sum-up; "Rorek- as in "Malchior" Rorek, was called-"

Malchior nodded; slowly, a calculated move which earned him the most delightful twitch from the other man- young or no.

"-and what we fought on the roof was him. Not you; and the dragon... never was you?"

"Precisely," Malchior said, mug pressed to his lips. His hand curled around Raven's sleeping peaceful skull and rubbed the softness of her hair with a thumb; he did this and did not look to do it, but rather gazed evenly at the young man across him; he did not _dis_notice the stiffness in the spine, and the most tempered, quiet and pale blush which rose; he smiled. Raven was his. A lovely catch, the sweetest trophy, and a possession worth loving with every spelled molecule.

"I suppose we owe you an apology," Robin said with surprising civility, one hand extended as he stood.

The mage settled his tea relaxedly, and firmly accepted the shake thereafter; a sort of glittering all-knowingness in his eyes; perhaps it was cruel, but then, the source of much amusement often stemmed here. Correct? Sure.

The leader Robin began to leave, perhaps to brief the spunky red-haired girl he'd commanded not enter into the room while they spoke (Mal could recall her and her peculiar mannerisms, and could not decide off-handedly if he'd chosen to like her or not). "Um, well; Malchior-"

Said with venom? Said with jealousy? Or had the young man matured past the difficulty in those seconds?

Pity.

"-welcome to the Tower."

* * *

She was waking up, slowly, and a little leisurely, which she had not done for some time, come to think on it and ponder; she had not been so relaxed in ages, in weeks, since having the tome leave her arms... She blinked lashes-heavy, and registered the warmth beneath her, and the damp of her hair on her face; the rain beating heavier on the window, and the flash of light, which illuminated the grey tone of blue under her shivering body. These were the shadows wrapping around, and finding her; she blinked and let out a yawn; a small one, just slightly, to appease the oxygenated needs. And her fingers stretched across the torso, dimly aware, for being so tired it was difficult to make absolute analyzations. He ran his hand over her back, and held it there, over her neck, to pinch the nerves gently and ease her further awake.

An ordeal passed over and through her, and the shadows chased the remembrance away; little concern of the dragon then, for having used so much energy... so much feeling... just to be rid of it. Like a pest.

"Malchior," she whispered, and held her arms around his waist- Oh, he was so much bigger than she, so tall and imposing in a way... and he was here with her, with that protective arm on her. "Did you carry me here?"

"I did," a whisper in return, as though honoring something just a little bit holy in the sanctity of the bedroom; the very obviously, precariously, _definite_ bedroom.

Raven smiled and sat up; it was not so hard to do, for her feeling rather energized after the what-she-would-refuse-later-to-call-a-nap; and she blushed to find him- the mage and master of her emotions- stretched and comfortable on her bed. Sprawled on his back like a cat, and smiling similarly, a sort of model of dark and delicious and daring for something unspoken, unsaid. The girl, rubbed her hands over her arms and the chills began to wear away, though she began to wonder how greatly the shivers were doting upon the cold; the cold indeed.

He eyed her, and smiled lazily, and seemed perfectly content; as though some sort of long, drawn-out battle or argument had been succeeded by him, and he could only bask delightedly in the glow; certainly, it seemed, time had slowed down a bit for Raven. It was very, very, very and quite unreal to have him there next to her, and truth to be told, it was strange. She was not entirely sure what to do with herself from there on out; old pains had been replaced rather neatly by the confusions of how she currently felt and by the unknowing wonderment of how she _should_ act from there on out. And damnable mage wasn't doing anything but posing and relaxing, and offering not the slightest bit of empathy, aside from some sort of rock star's attention which Raven was sure she did not need to explore right then. Though... it certainly was tempting.

Any other fifteen year-old might have willingly given their soul to the Great One simply and merely to have the opportunity to... well... capture a handsome, modelesque man onto their beds. But Raven only blushed, and tried very hard to put these thoughts to rest, a and out of her mind, because God knew at the rate her heart might start pounding she may not be able to hear any normal thoughts chasing around in her head. And chief of these concerns, as par with the norm, was simply _where to go from here_.

"Ah, child," was his voice and hands on her skin as he sat up, and it sent a shiver, a shake, over her, a sort of movement of her soul around her shoulders, and he held her at the shoulders against him. He spoke, and the cloth shield 'crosst his face usually was draped over his collarbones distractingly. "Finally we might have _peace_."

Raven nodded, but was swept with unsurity.

But his fingers were on her again, and in her hair, across her skin, and roaming, touching, shivering on her, and it was so hard to concentrate on the problems of the future when the present was trying to take up so much of one's time. When the present had its fingers wrapped in one's hair and tucked against one's clothing. His voice; "You look beautiful in white."

She blushed, and the intonation had been there- of rings, and vows, and a promise- and she could imagine herself in a dress- in skirts and in blouses- she could see herself on his arm, no longer having to worry... for worry naught beside a man so strong and... loving... There, a pang in her chest, a lancing reminder, the lightning of confusion again in her heart, and his concerned voice at her gasp, his eyes boring concern into her, until it really... didn't matter... in a way...

She found a spot of boldness in her worn psyche, and hurled it at him; "Do you love me?"

Perhaps she had expected something more dramatic, the actions of a man desperate to prove something- a grasp, an embrace- the softest of first kisses- but only an inclined chin, and a deliberate nod, solemn eyes, and the utterly truthful, "Yes."

There and then was the delicate sensation her imagination surely was to blame in producing; a quiet little hush, and a moment of solidity; something to lean on to. Raven felt her face heat and her eyes water; worry. What was there to worry about? The softness came up on her and washed her somewhere- a little trickle and wave, and the desperate femininity- little droplets on her cheeks, and flowing out the need to control... little-crowned need to know, and to direct, and to maintain the perfect flow of her life in one direction, all a flutter-and-gone and exorcised.

She leant into his touch, allowed herself to be small, and fragile, and quiet- oh, to be so soft against him, and know of his all-encompassing strengthitude; for moments on end to be the girl, to be a girl... a pretty, young girl... and not a superhero... not a titan... It was sort of abandonment, deliverance, from responsibility, and concern; let someone else take the care, take concern, and for only the smallest price.

Little oblivion, all sweet and wretched with him; and the hands on her, and her dim awareness of his lips across her cheeks, tongue a cat-lapping the tears, and for knowing there was no need to cry. He held her by and under him, and was overcome by a number of needs all at the once; her pretty little tears of confirmation under the weights of her loneliness, should oh-so be cared for with affection, and he found to taste them delicious with his tongue. And to taste her; skin, soft and supple, rounded by youth- the jaded lovely of youth- all pale and delicate, well, to run his tongue over her cheek, perhaps a bit strange but all together _fun_, regardless. And she shivered- oh, delightful!- under him, and his touch, and there was the tenseness behind her eyes, the weariness, to be taken care of, too! To be sure!

His hands to cup her face and whisper, and wonder, and say, "I love you, I love you."

"I only love you..." a mantra, a promise, a thousand pictures strung together of the past, and Raven felt the curl of a smile all Cheshire to her lips, and he was there at them a gentle press, closed and simple, and for the pure side, only. Her melting whim against him, and her arms worked against her- for only she wanted to preserve her old self, even a little!- and went up around his shoulders, his neck, to press into the still-damp hair, so white and falling around her. A little place, just between them, and outside, the soundtrack of rain.

Oh, he shuddered to know her shape below him, as he had maneuvered, and to feel her strong and shapely curves, so splendidly of womanesque proportion, but so young! so soft! Malchior smiled, and felt the quiver of her nervousness strat all across her, up and down, and understood with an almost dark sort of fascination the power he held over her. A bit morbid, a bit sensual, and he let himself control the possession- her possession- because he knew... she only wanted to be owned, now. Only wanted to be loved beyond going back. Ever.

The mage pressed her down, and made her gently trapped, to forcify the kiss, and intrude on her mouth with a strength which became bruising; she had never kissed in this manner before, though sure to be honest, she had done relatively little kissing of any type with which to compare- and it sent a shocking quiver through her- the sensation! the touch! So, new, and she was alive with it! And Malchior was so dominant and for a moment she struggled under him, scared at what she had to do next, to participate- and honestly again, she did not have the clearest notion of what that was- but there he was, of guiding purpose, pinning her arms up at the wrist and kissing her with more force- the promise of pleasure, and of no effort on her part. 'Easy', the language said, 'I'll take care of it.'

'I'll take care of you', it said.

And she blushed furiously at his other hand guiding her clothing away with a spell, and a murmur of promisings from Malchior- little whispers of safety and ease, and gentleness with such a sweet, tender child. He did not embarrass her and stare at the pale laid out for him without the protection of clothing, but went to her lips and consoled her ebbing shame with a kiss of appreciation; a sweet reminder of his gentlemanly roots. But he went on, and oh, to touch at her, to let trail long fingers and palms across her neck and shoulders, and guide them down to her stomach and waist. To allow himself a simple pleasure in resting those hands on her breasts- too soft, pert and quivering with her- to only feel what tight cloth had alluded to. And her body was so the ripe for him- supple and beautiful, that it made a fevered sort of desire come at him- not entirely to be thought of as lust, but tainted heavily with the need to corral, and claim, and own. Raven's breath came in hushed pants, and a hot blush had made its home across her cheeks without any permission at all.

She shifted and curled under him, little arches with the gentle stretches of coldness; and she saw him mumbling above her, a slow drawl of lips, and hush of tongue, that in a moment resulted in the fade and removal of layer after layer of cloth from his body. Long, lean, stealthy; and she shyly smiled, and did not know if she could look or not, and furthermore determine if she wanted to look but there was the boldness again, the parts of Raven that assimilated and allowed for her gentler self, bubbling up to assert their claim in the territories of her soul and they commanded her in an almost surreal way to overcome that shyness immediately. She looked. And the blush that resulted certainly belied the force of character which had just tugged war across her mind.

And he was stretched over her, pale and thrumming with pent energy- a hushed kiss on her lips. "I only love you..."

She nodded and squirmed at the contact of flesh to her lower self, fingers trailing and exploring, just lightly, oh, so gently, and rather warm. A smile on his face, a coy, inviting gaze to the girl, a sort of grin; she smiled weakly, and was ashamed on one or two levels. But it seemed... trivial.

He pressed his lips to the heavy breath of the girl beneath him, and saw with some pride the half-lidded dilation of deep, azure blue eyes. Raven shivered and squirmed and he could see the look of confusion, and wonder, and the question on the tip of her tongue. He himself was pulsing, full and ready, and pent from a century or so's wait and want. He parted her legs, quivering and immediately locked against his sides for not knowing a better place for them- and to be sure, understanding that for now, there was no better place- and he felt her carefully, to be sure of a damp and ease, and slowly guided himself into the girl.

There was the gasp of surprised knowing- and his own jar of movement through a virginal membrane- and then the gasp of pain which Raven uttered protestingly, rising suddenly in an arch of soft agony to grasp at the mage's shoulders, and wrap herself up to him uselessly. Tears bit at her eyes, and the man felt the necessary guilt, though was aware of the situation's inevitability. Raven twitched on him, and gripped her knees to his sides unhappily, the hint of accusation in her fingers- so tightly wound into his hair. He held one hand at her hip, and steadied the aching girl, to reach and gently pet the crown of her head, softy, calmingly, apologetically. He whispered down at her ear, which the turns of a finger had revealed in a sweep of damp, purpled hair, and rubbed her cheek gently, "Are you all right?"

No sound but the squeak of pain's older vestiges, a nod, and then her voice- ragged for the overuse in hours before, and ragged now for shock, "Yes..."

"Good girl, Raven," he murmured with some strength of character- throbbing and ready, his member was greedy for its prize, but he held himself still, and protective around the girl. She bit her lip as the pains receded, leaving the dullest demandings of aches, and tried to relax against the pillows, though her hands remained needfully on his shoulders above. She took a deep breath, and nodded, and understood his thoughts through the cool, sympathetic blue of his eyes.

Slowly, gingerly, he allowed himself movement, the friction of the damp and the dry- and there was the blood's contribution- a bit more here, a bit more there for lubrication's sake. Gradually the girl came to gasp and breathe with little sighs and escaping squeaks- not perhaps the most mature or natural sounds, nor the most arousing by any stretch of the imagination, but she allowed herself past the embarrassment of being unused to the act, and tried very hard to relax and flow with the man above her.

It was not so hard, not so difficult to look up and see and feel him- to hold his gaze carefully, and feel herself slowly descend into new sensation. The pain seemed far away, and unreal, as though spirited away by the shadows- and it did seem like there were shadows, sort of ebbing and moving around them, voyeuristically, to engage themselves in delight. A cool, hushed feeling beheld at the room- illumination from the lightning outside, and cover for moans in the helpful, thundering clouds, aided by the tumult, the spray, and the white cacophony of rain, falling, beating, raging against the windows in a mix of approval and reproval. Raven was alarmed at the new and rather bizarre feelings of pleasure being moved through her body, and was terribly unsure of what to do with them, but began wanting, and needing, and she was soon arching and rocking against Malchior, whose eyes widened with a matter of delighted surprise.

He gasped, and groaned- how long had it been? and the sweat seemed to sheen across him with unadulterated excitement- and the girl, the _girl_- beautiful, wonton little girl, moving and trembling beneath and around him- God, and sensation! He arched over her, possessive and strong, and reiterated his command over her- more firm, more intense were his punctuations- more full and long and unGodly different- that he soon had her crying softly for an end she had never considered before. And- oh!- her little cries, little mewlings and tossing hair, that sent him reeling toward release, tumbling dangerously beyond control- oh, sweet, _child_!

Raven gasped and sniffed and felt her body tense and reel and roll of its own accord- felt herself grasp at his arms, balanced around her, and see only the shadows and whiteness, the swirling dark around her, and the blooming shock of release under his dilated, masterful blue eyes.

She felt him twitch and shudder and groan in her, and for a moment he panted above as though struck petrified over her. She tried to calm, and take her racing heart back from heady palpitations, and she felt light and airy, and could only see, for no more romantic reason than he was simply _there_- Malchior above, a painfully sweet expression on his sculpted features.

"Thank you," he choked out at last, as though also at a loss for words, thus belying his assumably impervious vocabularic cool, and she nodded, feeling the relax of her lower body and spine, and the remaining ache of a torn membrane inside. The man ran his hand down her pelvis, from the belly-button down, and she felt an unusual wash of fluid leak from her, and the mumble on his lips readily explained that it was a cleansing, which she realized suddenly was of the utmost importance, lest she find herself sooner heavy with child than with anything conceivably otherwise.

He rolled down with her, out of her, and wrapped her possessively in long, pale arms. His breath came quick in her hair and she could only curl closer to his self, forehead resting contentedly against his ribs, where the beat-beat-beat of his heart had already descended and simplified back down on earth for her to appreciate and envy. Thump thump thump.

His lips in her hair, fevered praisings and thank yous and the relative apologies... and his hands guiding her up, reaching her up to meet him in an embrace and a kiss that seemed to last... and last... until the lightning flashed opportunely, and highlighted the shadow creeping under the door to her room.

"Hey, Raven!" sniveling, irksome little voice, and the cough of a more mature voice nearby. Beast Boy coughed as well, and a step was heard.

"Raven, we're having dinner soon, and we want to know if we can, ah, invite you and... Malchior," said with only the lightest venom, the most subtle of abused and rejected tones; Malchior smirked and let his lips trace away from hers and down her neck lovingly.

"Absolutely!" she called, giggling in a rather unadulterated manner- she felt perhaps she had a right to, one didn't get more of an obvious chance to move on to a new stage of life than by the force of another person's love- and she even sat up to smooth her hair to continue, "I need to take a shower, and relax..."

There was the grumble of a younger titan after, a sort of snide unhappy remark which was un-intelligible, and the growl of the leader's tone soon after, which then and there sent Malchior and Raven into a fit of amused giggles, their foreheads together and tickled.

"Okay...!" (Robin's voice here... a sort of, _descending_ tone, not mayhaps the most assured or pleased, to be certain.)

Raven knew, laughing quietly with her hand resting in the white of Malchior's hair, that things were going to very different from that moment on- probably for more reasons than BB becoming rather hostile (not to mention another, but Raven was quite oblivious to _that_ little drama her leader experienced)- and she smiled, deciding that change was exactly what she wanted.

"I'll be out soon," she called, curling against the man she'd fought and won for, who held at her like a possession which he's named Love and placed in a lovely, gilded and open cage, and finished, smiling, "I'd just like to... for a moment... enjoy some peace."

* * *

FIN


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